Tricksters' Game
by Thobbit
Summary: "You have until the end of the month to get all your people out of the Isles," Aly told George at the end of Trickster's Queen, "or I'll ship them home." She wasn't kidding.


_A/N: Not my best work, but the idea's been bugging me for ages, and I thought it might be bugging other people enough that they'd want to read it. Enjoy! (__Disclaimer: If I was Tamora Pierce, would it be on a fanfiction website?)_

**April 30, 464 H.E.**

Aly gazed intently at her watch, counting down the seconds to midnight. When the second hand hit twelve, she looked up at Vitorcine, and cheerfully announced, "Happy May!"

The ex-maid yawned hugely, covering her mouth with one hand. The other hand held a list of names and addresses spread the length and width of the islands, of every possible race and status. "So now we get to arrest these people?" she asked, waving the paper wearily.

"Precisely," Aly responded with a smile.

"And we had to wait until May because...?" the Assistant Spymaster added crossly, folding her arms over her chest.

"Because I gave them till the end of the month," Aly replied. "I wouldn't want to be caught in a lie." She grinned impishly. It was one of those times when Vitorcine had utter confidence in the rumor that the spymaster of the Copper Isles was a child of the Trickster God, no matter how much Aly denied it.

"Very well, I'll alert the Lancers." She gave a rough salute and went toward the door.

"And Ysul needs to pull up the Chain," Aly called after her. "I want them all at once."

Vitorcine waved to show she had heard, and left the office.

**May 1, 464 H.E.**

Kiala woke with a start when she heard the scrape of the door. She was halfway out the window, bag over her shoulder, before she paused to wonder why. It could be something as innocent as the inn's owner, couldn't it?

The door creaked again, straining against the blocks she had set before going to bed. If it was the host, surely he would have knocked first, and announced himself? That was normal procedure for staff entering a guest's room.

Then there was a knock, and a low voice called, "Open in the Queen's name!"

Kiala was out window in a flash, jumping first to the lower roof of a neighboring shop, then onto a ledge in the back. She ran down along the building, carefully out of view of the window in the room where she'd been sleeping, A nearby alley provided more cover, so she ducked into it, still running. Her thoughts raced, and she eased a small knife from her sleeve. It was a good thing she had been paranoid when her supervisor hadn't been in his office yesterday. If she was going to be arrested—and Kiala knew it could be nothing else, if they were 'in the Queen's name'—then she intended to at least put up a fight. Of course, if she was seen running with a knife, people might get suspicious, and she could be caught.

Kiala slowed to a jog, deciding to keep her dagger hidden. When she came out of the alley she'd be on Middle Way, where any followers could be lost in the crowd. From there, she could make her way to the docks, and get work on a ship going to one of the other islands.

That was the plan, at least. When Kiala turned the corner onto Middle Way, she ran into a group of Lancers, all holding clubs at the ready. Pulling out her knife, she crouched into a fighting stance, and cursed her carelessness for not looking around before coming out of that alley.

One of the guards stepped forward, holding up a paper on which she could see a very fancy seal. "Kiala Ramu, you are under arrest for treason, by order of Her Majesty Dovesary Balitang. Do you choose to come quietly?"

Kiala looked around desperately, searching for an escape route. She knew her 'information-gathering' side job would get her in trouble some day. She started forward, knife pointing out, hoping to surprise them into breaking rank. But before she could do anything, something hard and heavy connected with the back of her head, and everything went black.

**May 1, 464 H.E.**

The girl started sputtering on the third mouthful of wine. Aly set the cup in front of her and circled the desk to sit position herself imposingly in her chair.

"Wh-where am I?" asked the girl, sitting upright. Her eyes darted around the small room, from empty wall to empty wall, and came to rest on the wine cup. She licked her lips, and Aly saw fear and outrage flit across her face. "You drugged me?" she asked guardedly.

Aly tsked. "You're far to blunt with strangers," she scolded. "Not a good tactic in this line of work."

The girl suppressed a glare. "I'm just a maid," she argued innocently.

That one deserved a snort, but Aly held it in. "Ms. Kiala Ramu of Rocky St., the Honeypot," she said, reading off the report in front of her. "Daughter of Hasai Ramu and father unknown. Maid at the River Road Hotel. And––" she looked up––"spy."

Aly had to give her credit; Kiala didn't blink. "Who are you?"

The spymaster of the Copper Isles just smiled. "Do you know who you reported to?" The girl opened her mouth to answer, but Aly cut her off first. "I'll know if you lie."

"I just shared gossip!" Kiala cried. "Nothing anyone couldn't hear in the marketplace. With––" she bit her tongue.

"Yes?" Aly prompted. The girl had drunk enough of the potion for Aly's Sight to see the magic working.

"Just Mr. Idaban, at the clerk's office. He's an old friend of my mother."

Aly nodded. That last part was a lie, but the rest was fine. "Did you ever see anyone else talking to Mr. Idaban?"

"No!" she defended. Aly raised an eyebrow. "Well, yes, but nobody that didn't work in his office."

The girl was telling the truth, or thought she was. It was easy to check. "Anything else? What sort of thing did you tell him? Exactly, please."

Kiala shook her head, as if that would clear the effects of the potion. "Just gossip, really. What people say. Guests at the hotel, mostly. They like to talk politics." Her voice gained a bitter tinge. "And no one notices a maid."

Truth. Aly checked the report again. The girl was obviously fairly bright, and determined, to work her way into a decent hotel (and side job) from a single mother in a Honeypot shack. Well, it wasn't as if she'd expected stupid people.

She leaned casually back in her chair, looking slightly bored. This girl was the sort to do her best from sheer stubbornness, if goaded just right. "Kiala, I'd like to offer you a job."

Kiala eyed her warily. "What sort?"

"The same sort you've been doing," Aly replied coolly. "Perhaps a bit more interesting gossip."

"Uh-huh," the girl nodded skeptically.

"Or you can be deported," Aly added cheerfully.

The girl's eyes widened in fear. "But––"

"It's quite a good deal, really," the spymaster went on. "You'll never be able to come home, but you won't be executed for treason. There won't even be repercussions against your mother." The girl sat dumb, so Aly added, "It's a one-time offer."

"And-and if I stayed?" asked Kiala.

Aly smiled. "You could return to the River Road, listen to gossip, and earn a little extra by passing it on to a friend. Or maybe more, hmm?" Her voice hardened abruptly. "What you couldn't do is run, to another island or leave the Isles yourself."

The girl was thinking seriously about it, even through the spelled wine. "All just the same?"

"All just the same."

"Then...then I'll go," Kiala spilled out. "There's nothin' for me here. Ma can take care of herself, and I can start new without no one knowin' there's no Pa. I can work. I speak Common."

Aly hid her disappointment in crisp efficiency. She liked this girl, but it was no use getting a smart agent by force. "Fine, then." she pushed a blank paper, inkpot, and quill across the desk, then passed the girl a small dagger. "You will write and sign a blood oath to never work against the rule of Queen Dovesary or her rightful descendants, then be escorted off the Isles."

Kiala gulped visibly, but her hand was steady with the pen and dagger. As soon as Aly had scanned the oath for errors, two guards entered and pulled the girl roughly to her feet, propelling her out of the room.

Once they were gone, Aly tucked the oath under a stack of similar papers and settled back in her chair. She checked the list and gave a happy little sigh. Only twenty-four names to go.

**July 12, 464 H.E.**

George strolled casually down the dock. For this trip he was a merchant, well-off enough to be receiving full ships of cargo, but nothing too showy. He spied the dockmaster arguing with a merchant - an actual merchant, by the slightly-chubby look of him, and headed over.

"And I told you," the dockmaster was saying, "I won't have it! I don't care about your damned 'special order'! I'll have no slave ships in my––" He caught sight of George and sopped. "Baron Cooper! Thank goodness. This man––"

George hid a grimace. So much for being a merchant. Where was Stamnos Underwood, the Assistant Dockmaster? It was his message George had gotten to come. Underwood was one of his better agents.

"What seems to be the problem, Dockmaster Ternan?" George asked cheerily.

Both men started talking at once. George held his hands up for silence. "Please, you first," he said, pointing at the merchant. "Who are you?"

Ternan looked slightly disgruntled, but the merchant puffed himself up and declared proudly, "Mankin Palkiva, of Gempang Island, sir. I'm a grain merchant by trade, but my vessel has been hired by another party to deliver a cargo to Baron George Cooper of Pirates' Swoop. If that's you..." he trailed off hopefully.

George turned to Ternan. Underwood's message had said "you'll want to see this yourself" with no other explanation, so it couldn't be that simple. "Dockmaster?"

"This man is transporting people!" the dockmaster half-roared. "In chains!"

George winced; he'd forgotten how much of a foaming-mouth liberal Ternan was.

"I have papers!" Palkiva yelled back, brandishing a few official-looking pages. The two had clearly been having this conversation for several days.

George held out his hand, and the merchant passed him the papers. George inspected them closely. It was a simple contract, arranging for the passage of 237 people (names listed) from Rajmuat in the Copper Isles to Port Legann of Tortall. The only unusual stipulation was that 217 of the passengers were to be chained 23 hours a day, and watched over by the remaining 20. All were to be fed and treated otherwise equally, and it was made clear that installation of the necessary chains was done and paid for by the paying party of the contract Their removal was up to one Baron Cooper of Pirates' Swoop. The 217 who were to be chained must be released only into the custody of aforementioned Baron.

George skipped to the bottom and checked the signatures. There was Palkiva's, barely legible, but where the customer's should have been, there was only a black seal. George sharpened his Sight until he could clearly see the faint outline of a crow.

"Is there anything else?" George asked, looking up. The dockmaster was shifting impatiently, but Palkiva seemed willing to wait all day.

"Yes," said the merchant, fumbling for a pocket. "There's a letter I'm to deliver to you, and you alone, Your Lordship." He passed George a small scroll, folded many times over, tied shut with a tiny ribbon. There was no seal. "I didn't look at it, I swear on my life."

The cord was knotted messily, far too messily for any formal message, but George unfurled it expectantly all the same. The page was blank. He held the ribbon to his eye and picked at the knot. It was an old code, a good one, and he recognized the handiwork. _I told you I'd ship them home, _said the message.

The other two men were staring at him curiously, but George ignored them. Of course he had more than 217 people in the Copper Isles, and he could always recruit more. But who knew how many were just being watched, or had been turned and stayed, or turned and sent?

He grinned, somewhere between a proud father and a small boy with a new playmate. The spies' game was going to be a lot more interesting.


End file.
